On the Day Before
by kangeiko
Summary: Darla wasn't the only one Wolfram & Hart had tucked away in its Dreamscaping Division. S2, set a little before Untouched. Lilah/Cordelia.


Title: On the Day Before  
Author: **kangeiko**  
Fandom: A:tS  
Written for: **viciouswishes** as part of **femslash_minis**.  
Rating: R/NC-17  
Word count: 860  
Request: Lilah/Cordelia, rope and a rose.  
Summary: Darla wasn't the only one Wolfram & Hart had tucked away in its Dreamscaping Division. S2, set a little before _Untouched_.

A/N: I didn't get a chance to expand on this as much as I would have liked, because I managed to destroy my wrist about four days ago. Also, I stole my title from _The West Wing._ Shameless, I know. I hope that you enjoy it, regardless.

***

Lindsey is the one to tell her, all spite and bile. "Good news! The word's come from the seers. You've shown up in a dreamscape they've been working on, and they've found someone you can work on for the firm. Someone worthwhile."

And that's how it starts: Lindsey, in her office, holding out a file and smiling like it's the best joke he's ever heard. Later, there are the seers and the dreamscapers, and her assistant, feeding her sips of water and fruit juice, and Holland, of course, always Holland, watching from behind the screen.

*

_Cordelia's hands are tied behind her back with red silk rope, twisted thrice about itself and knotted in a strand down to her feet. Her shoulders are pushed back, her head up, her eyes clear. She is smiling._

*

"Sign here, and here, and here, and we'll get on to the conditions after that." Lindsey again, going through standard procedure and flipping through the contract while a nurse extracts a vial of blood and slots it into a platinum Parker pen with _Wolfram & Hart employee of the month_ engraved on the side. "And also add in your staff number and immortal soul number on the last page, under 'office use'."

The corporate seers are typing all of it up, scene by scene, as if this has already occurred and her agreement was a mere formality.

*

_Her hair is long, and even in this dreamscape you can tell that it is in good condition. You carefully slide the ties of the blindfold beneath it, lifting the heavy mass out of your way and carefully arranging it back down over shoulder and back and collarbone. There are tiny scars down Cordelia's back - the remnants of a Sunnydale education, you remember from her file - and they snake down her skin, across the swell of buttocks and the curve of hip, with a vicious raised welt across the smooth skin of her belly. It's wide, circular, like a red rose blooming where her appendix should be, matched front and back. (Someone took a knife to her, or an iron bar, you think, and it makes your palms itch.)_

_You dip your head and press your lips to the scars, front and back, more of a mental note than a kiss, and tug gently on the rope. She yields easily, folding to the floor to kneel, back straight, ankles together, and head held high. _

_The ties from the blindfold are garishly red against the black of her hair._

*

"OK, the health form. Do you have any children-for-retention, children-for-sacrifice or other dependents?"

"No."

"Do you have any diseases, demon or human, that would disrupt a necromancer should he/she/it require your body in the event of your death?"

"No. Wait - I have low blood pressure."

"No, that's fine." Lindsey is practically bouncing on his heels. "Do you have -"

*

_You trace the outline of Cordelia's left breast with one finger - nail too long, too sharp - scraping a little against the soft, tender skin of the areola, smiling as her breath stuttered out in tiny gasps and gooseflesh rose across her chest and belly. _

_You snake around her, hands on her shoulders, and push her forward, face-first into the padded seat of the armchair. Her back is arched, and hands-arms-torso bound, and still there's yet more rope, enough to puddle around your feet as you push her knees open._

_She makes a tiny, mewling sound when you kiss the small of her back, and lower. You pull the ropes tighter._

*

"All right, Lilah," Holland, this time, smiling as he pats her arm and hands her over to the dreamscapers. They hold out their hands and gather her to them, their mouths and fingers tracing her in lieu of sight. "You're doing good work, Lilah," Holland says, as they tug her into a dreamscape room, and feed potions and big pharma drugs to her in fluorescent drips. "I don't need to tell you how important this is. You and Darla, my dear... you're going to be our way into Angel's camp."

*

_Tell me you want me, you say, your fingers inside her, making her squirm in your grip. She's hot and wet to your touch, wriggling in her bonds, the sharp, hungry sounds she's making muffled by the plush upholstery of the armchair. Tell me you want me, you say again, and sweep the hair off of her back, baring the nape of her neck, licking a long, wet swipe across it. Tell me, Cordy. Tell me this is important to you. You reach over and around her; your fingers swirl wetly against the raised nub of her clit, the buttons of your new Armani suit digging into her back. Come on, Cordelia, you coax, come on -_

_Harder, she says, and raises her face. It's flushed and angry red, and blotchy with sweat and tears. Her lipstick is smeared and she's baring her teeth at you, laughing and triumphant. Come on, you bitch, fuck me harder._

*

Lilah thinks that if she's ever given the chance to rewrite the dictionary, she'd rip out 'worthwhile' by the roots, prophecies and all.

*

fin


End file.
